Doctor Who: The Watchmen Paradox
by VincentLombardi
Summary: The Doctor finds himself in a parallel world New York and ends up facing both conspiracy theories and some of his oldest foes...
1. Prologue: Curiosity

Doctor Who: The Watchmen Paradox

Prologue: Curiosity

Frank Milford had always been too inquisitive and curious for his own good. On his 3rd birthday, he had wondered what the jumpy and floaty yellow things on his candles would feel like. A mere ten seconds after that question crossed his mind, Frank's mother was frantically running his little hands under a cold tap while he wailed like a banshee with toothache and a news reporter on the television offered different theories regarding the shooting of President John Kennedy. At age 10, Frank was trying to think of quick and efficient ways to kill the wasps invading his backyard in the baking hot summer of 1970. Apparently clapping both hands around one to squash it was not a good idea, as he managed to get a stinger embedded in his tender palm, and ran into the house screaming himself hoarse, much to the shock of his father, who had just been reading a newspaper article bearing the news that Doctor Manhattan had revealed his real name, that being Jon Osterman, to the public. At age 14 he was left home alone, while his parents were out at work, and he felt a sudden urge to go into the backyard and try out his father's shotgun. The shock of the impact when he fired the gun knocked him onto his back and left him with a large and painful bruise on his shoulder.

Now, in 1985, he was a freakishly skinny 25-year-old man with a height of 5 foot 10 who had just started working for Adrian Veidt. He was a mere cleaner in Veidt's offices in New York, but, once again, found he needed to see more than other people's muddy shoe marks being cleaned away by his mop and bucket.

Luckily for him, he was given the night shift on his sixth day on the job and left to clean the reception area after his colleagues had gone home for a good night's sleep. As soon as he was sure there was nobody else in the building but him, he left his trusty bucket and mop next to the reception desk and bounded happily into the elevator. He pressed the button that would take him down to the basement, and stood in the elevator grinning like a scrawny, ginger-haired clown. Rumours had been flying around that Veidt and his scientists were working on a special project down in the basement, away from journalists, the public, and, most of all, insignificant cleaners. The doors slid open with a satisfied electronic whirr and Frank stepped out into the vast, chilly basement to find it was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing. Of course, he had expected this. So he had wisely come prepared. He pulled a powerful flashlight out of his faded denim jacket and scanned the concrete floor, steel walls and steel ceiling. There was really nothing to see here except for a wooden crate about 7 feet tall, 2 feet wide and 2 feet long. _If there's nothing worth looking at in there, I'm gonna be so damn pissed, _Frank thought. His hand closed around the lid, which had already had its seal broken, and he began to slowly lift it up.

A loud BANG and a flash of blue light to his left made him jump out of his skin and drop his flashlight. The flashlight clattered to the concrete, where it lay and cut a beam of light through the indifferently black floor. The beam slanted in the right direction to show Frank that a steel door had been ripped off its hinges (_or blasted?_ Frank thought, taking into account the flash of blue light). Talking of blue light, Frank noticed a small circular dark blue light slightly bigger than a human eye glaring at him out of the darkness on the other side of the door. It was about half a foot higher than the top of Frank's head, and somehow he knew this glowing blue circle belonged to something. _It's an eye, _part of his mind whispered. _A murderous robot's eye. Run while you still can, you crazy son-of-a-gun. _But that was ridiculous. Frank guessed he'd been watching too many crappy sci-fi movies. But his heart bashing persistently against his ribcage suggested otherwise. Suddenly a voice came from the direction of the blue light. It was a shrill electronic screech, not in the least bit human. "Locate!" it bawled through the darkness. It was moving towards Frank now, as the metallic base of whatever this thing was cut into the flashlight beam. "Intruder detected!" The sweating, panicking Frank just had time to remember a wise warning from his father (_"Curiosity killed the cat, son"_) before the blue circle shot a beam of light right towards his face. That was the last thing he ever saw. Frank Milford was, in fact, dead before he even hit the concrete.


	2. Chapter 1: Meeting Veidt

Chapter 1: Meeting Veidt

The Doctor, travelling alone for the time being, had managed to get himself into "a bit of a pickle", as he would call it. He had flown the TARDIS into a slightly dodgy wormhole (he found out very quickly that it was, in fact, VERY dodgy), and a powerful surge of cosmic energy caused the positioning system to overheat. This resulted in the TARDIS jolting and spinning alarmingly, while the Doctor clung on to the console for dear life, until it finally came to an uneasy stop. The Doctor clambered clumsily to his feet, wincing audibly as he noticed numerous bruises from that bumpy ride. He took in and let out a deep breath, then proceeded to assess the situation out loud to himself.

"Right", he murmured. "I flew into one hell of a wormhole and caused the positioning system on my lovely ship to overheat. It took me for a ride that would turn any rollercoaster green with envy, and now we've well and truly stopped. Positioning system overheating equals… I am thoroughly lost. If I walk over there…" he pointed in the direction of the door as if giving instructions to a bunch of Primary school children, "…I have absolutely no idea where I'll find myself." He massaged his temples thoughtfully and ran a slim hand through his thick and unkempt dark brown hair. After a couple of minutes, he gazed over at the door while a thin stream of smoke rose from the TARDIS's console. "I love surprises", he declared happily, and bounced over to the door, his long brown coat billowing out behind him as he did so. He flung the door open and discovered that the TARDIS had materialized in a shadowy and grimy alleyway. Smiling cheerfully at this unpleasant and uninviting place, the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and saw a city street at the end of the alleyway, about 5 metres away. There was a distinct smell of petrol fumes and old newspapers lingering in the air, and the Doctor was soon able to tell by the cars passing and the humans gathering on the pavement that he was on Earth. But for now he couldn't tell whether he was on the original Earth or if he'd ended up stuck in a parallel world. Or, for that matter, what year he was in. As he was pondering the possibilities, a male youth of probably about 18 or 19 wandered into the alleyway. This youth was wearing black and white clothing that looked like some form of punk attire, complete with heavy-duty black boots, and his greasy black hair was tied back in a thick knot. He had something sticking out of his mouth; something that looked like a cigarette but the Doctor knew was something more extreme than that. The Doctor straightened his speckled blue tie and the lapels on his dark brown pinstriped suit, and strolled up to this youth wearing a friendly and boyish smile.

"Excuse me!" He called. The youth glanced up at him with dull black eyes. His prominent nose was littered with blackheads. A single strand of hair hung down over his left eyebrow. "You look like a wise and well-informed young man. Could you please tell me what year it is, what day it is and where I am?" The youth glared at the Doctor for a moment. Finally he replied; "Are you fuckin' retarded, man?"

"Oi!" the Doctor said indignantly, feeling genuinely offended. "Just answer my question, please." The youth pulled the stick of god-knows-what out of his mouth, coughed hoarsely, replaced it and drew on it deeply. Then he spoke up. "It's October 13th, 1985, and you're in downtown New York, pal." With every syllable he spoke, a small cloud of white smoke puffed out to emphasize it. "Oh, _fantastic_!" the Doctor exclaimed gleefully. "I love New York! And I love the '80s as well! Wonderful!" He then realized the youth was staring at him as if he had green skin and two heads. So he quickly changed the subject. "I'm curious, young m… actually, what's your name? I like to get on first-name basis with people."

"Jeff", the youth muttered uneasily.

"Jeff. Hello. So, Jeff, I'm curious. What exactly are you dressed as?"

"Excuse me?" Jeff growled. It was his turn to look offended now. "Shit, where the hell have you been livin' for the past 20 years? I'm a knot-top, man! Lotta people dress like this." He glanced over the Doctor's pinstriped suit, sneakers and long brown raincoat. "Anyway, what the fuck are you wearin', you goddamn pussy? And how in hell didn't you know when and where you are? Damn, I've smoked some hardcore shit in my time, but I want whatever you've got." And, with that, he stomped back out of the alleyway and down the street. The doctor stood there, eyebrows raised. "That wasn't very nice", he remarked. He stepped gingerly over a pile of litter, which contained dirty needles and used condoms among other things, and strolled out into the street. He came out a few metres away from a news stand. There was a stocky but not quite fat man in his late 60s calling out to passers-by and trying to sell them newspapers. Some did, but many kept walking, clearly with something else on their minds. The Doctor wandered over towards the news stand, waiting for the newspaper seller to call out to him. Eventually, he did. The Doctor took a newspaper wordlessly and began to leaf through it. The newspaper man stood patiently for a moment, then asked brusquely (almost snapped), "Hey, buddy. You gonna pay for that or what?"

"I never said I was going to buy this", the Doctor pointed out politely, looking vaguely surprised. "I just want to quickly find out what's going on in this world." He flashed the newspaper man a toothy grin. The newspaper man grunted indignantly and turned back to his news stand. The doctor sat down on the pavement (_sidewalk_, he reminded himself), next to a fire hydrant. A black boy of about 13 was perched on the fire hydrant, reading a particularly gruesome-looking pirate comic. He shot the Doctor a brief uneasy glance and then shifted his eyes back to the demonic sailors on the paper in front of him. The Doctor tried to get on the boy's good side, as he was sure he had already scuppered his chances of becoming friendly with the newspaper man. "So", he smiled, "what's happening in New York today?"

"Uh…" the boy mumbled.

"Don't worry, that was a rhetorical question", the Doctor interrupted. "I can find out for myself." He looked at the front page. The headline exclaimed: "MAN FOUND DEAD SEVERAL STORIES BELOW HIS OWN APARTMENT."

"Oh, lovely!" the Doctor exclaimed himself, making the boy jump. "I love a good murder." He rubbed his hands gleefully and set to reading all about it.

It turned out that a surprisingly well-built man in his early 60s, by name of Edward Blake, had been brutally beaten up and then thrown forcefully through the window of his apartment. He fell several stories down to the sidewalk and was barely recognizable after he hit the ground. "Nasty", the Doctor winced after he had finished reading the front page article. He swiftly turned the page and moved on to another one. " 'I MAY HAVE DISCOVERED A NEW ENERGY SOURCE' CLAIMS ADRIAN VEIDT", read the next headline. He glanced down at the story below. He read as far as "The smartest man in the world announced…" before his eyes lit up and he leapt to his feet. He marched smartly over to the newspaper man, slammed the newspaper back on its stand and stared intently into the man's face with an expression of intense interest. "Tell me", the Doctor whispered intently, his nose almost touching the newspaper man's, "who is Adrian Veidt?" The newspaper man was so frightened and confused by this that beads of sweat began to break out on the top of his bald head, trickling down into the white hair that encircled his ears. "Seriously?" the newspaper man gasped. "You don't know who Adrian Vei-"

"Just TELL ME who he is!" the Doctor replied loudly enough to earn a few surprised glances from passers-by.

"W-w-well…" the newspaper man stammered, "he's supposed to be the smartest guy in the world…"

"Yeah, yeah, I saw that", the Doctor said impatiently. "What's he done?"

"Well", the newspaper man murmured, feeling more and more confused by the second, "he's a self-made millionaire and he used to fight crime under the name of Ozymandias…"

"Fight crime? Under the name of?" the Doctor now looked legitimately insane. "So was he a costumed vigilante?"

"Christ man, where have you been living?"

"Just tell me!"

"OK, OK! Yeah, we've had costumed vigilantes here in New York since the thirties. Hooded Justice, Nite Owl, Silk Spectre, that asshole the Comedian, Captain Metropolis, and later we got Nite Owl II, Silk Spectre II, that fucking psycho Rorschach, Veidt took on the identity of Ozymandias, and in the fifties we got the world's first crimefighter who actually has powers, Doctor Manhattan. He's this big blue guy, the only active crimefighter at the moment 'cause, you see, he's sponsored by the government and, a few years back, there was this thing called the Keene Act which banned all crimefighters except the government-sponsored weirdos like Doc and the Comedian, except nobody really knows what's happened to the comedian right now. Although that one guy, Rorschach, refused to retire and he's still out there somewhere, making sure he kills pretty much all the serious criminals he comes across…" the newspaper man shuddered at the though of this Rorschach person, then realized he'd been talking more to himself than anyone else. He turned back to look at the man in the suit and long brown coat. The Doctor's face now seemed to be all eyes. He continued to stare with an unsettling level of extreme interest for another ten seconds or so, then shifted his face very quickly into a friendly and casual smile. "Thank you very much, Mr.… sorry, what's your name?"

"B-Bernard." the newspaper man stammered uneasily. "My name's Bernard."

"Hello, Bernard. Sorry if I scared you. So, tell me, where can I find Adrian Veidt?"

After a hurried set of instructions from Bernard and a careful following of them, the Doctor found himself standing in front of a conspicuous and somewhat gaudy office building. It stood at easily 30 stories tall, almost completely covered in glass so gleaming clean that it was impossible to see anything other than the surrounding city's reflection when looking directly at the building, and a split in the centre of the building combined with strategically placed LED lights gave the top third of the building the appearance of a giant purple "V". The front door was a dulled gold colour, and guarded by two well-built but painfully stupid-looking guards dressed in black uniforms. The Doctor marched boldly up to them. One of them opened his abnormally large mouth to speak, but the Doctor cut him off; "Doctor John Smith", he said, flashing his psychic paper in their stupefied faces. "I'm here to give Mr. Veidt his check-up." The gaurds seemed satisfied and let him pass. The Doctor couldn't help but grin like a little boy in a sweet shop when he stepped into the reception area. It was a spectacular entrance hall with a polished marble floor and a 20-foot high ceiling. A series of escalators leading up to elevators lined the outside, and a large marble fountain carved into the shape of a "V" stood in the centre of the floor. The Doctor was beginning to think that perhaps this Veidt was a little self-obsessed. He wandered over to the reception desk, whistling cheerfully as he did so. Veidt's pretty blonde secretary glanced up at him and smiled. "Can I help you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yes, actually. Doctor John Smith", he held up his psychic paper again. "I'm here to give Mr. Veidt his check-up. Where might I find him?"

"20th floor", the secretary smiled. The Doctor could see a slight blush rising in her cheeks. _Maybe she's got a thing for British accents_, he thought, holding back a smirk.

"Thanks very much." He smiled back at the secretary and turned towards the nearest escalator.

Approximately 2 minutes later, the elevator door opened directly on a spacious and sparkling clean office. To the Doctor's right was a door leading out to, presumably, a corridor, and to his left was a floor-to-ceiling window with a well-organized desk in front of it, and sitting in front of a sleek and impressive-looking computer, which was in the middle of the desk, was a tall and handsome blonde man in his early 40s. He started slightly when the elevator door opened, but quickly shifted his expression to one that could be described as "professionally friendly". The Doctor stepped out of the elevator and gazed around the office in awe. On the far side of the office was a glass case filled with ancient Egyptian archaeological items such as jewelled statues of pharaoh heads, decorated shields and miniature statues of the various Egyptian gods. "Excuse me, sir." The blonde man's smooth voice, the accent of which was American with a slight German twang, quickly brought the Doctor out of his trance. He turned to face the alleged "smartest man in the world". "Sorry", the Doctor grinned. "Are you Adrian Veidt?"

"Yes, I am…" Veidt replied, seeming mildly surprised and amused by the fact that there was somebody that didn't know who he was. The Doctor stepped up to Veidt's desk and shook his hand enthusiastically. He was still grinning like a well-fed shark. "Thrilled to finally meet you", he told Veidt. "I look forward to testing the hypothesis that you're the smartest man in the world."

"Excuse me…" Veidt said, laughing slightly as he did so. "I don't mean to be rude, but who are you?"

"Oh!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Sorry, I'm the one who's being rude." He laughed at himself briefly, then cleared his throat and fished out his psychic paper for the third time. "Doctor John Smith", he said. "I'm here to…"

"What exactly did you think you were showing me just then?" Veidt mused, looking vaguely confused.

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked uneasily after a brief pause.

"Why did you just show me a blank piece of paper?" Veidt asked, raising his eyebrows at the strange British-sounding man standing before him. The Doctor looked genuinely concerned for a moment. Eventually the corner of his mouth curled up into a smile. "Damn, you're good", he muttered. "I've only come across one other person before who was able to resist this." He pointed at his psychic paper before replacing it into his coat pocket. He somehow didn't think it would be wise to tell Veidt that, in fact, that other person had been William Shakespeare. "So…" Veidt began, "what exactly _is _that?"

"Uh, it's called psychic paper", the Doctor replied. "Low-level mind manipulation. Nothing special."

"Nothing special?" Veidt smiled. "Maybe not to you, whoever you are, but you've certainly caught my interest." He leaned back for a moment, using his hands to push himself from the back of his desk, then leant keenly forwards, resting his elbows on his desk and linking his fingers together. "Do tell me more." His expression was now one of attentive excitement. "Is this 'psychic paper' one of Doctor Manhattan's little projects?"

"Yes… yes it is!" the Doctor replied excitedly, although he had only the faintest idea who Doctor Manhattan was (i.e. a government-sponsored blue superhero who had somehow gained powers). "I actually work for Doctor Manhattan, and I was given the task of testing this psychic paper out on a hundred people and coming back with the results…"

"You're lying", Veidt said. "You don't work for Doctor Manhattan."

"Excuse me?"

"People blink more frequently when they're not telling the truth. You just blinked 5 times in that last sentence."

"I'm impressed", the Doctor murmured.

"Thank you", Veidt said. "I'll take that as a compliment. Now, I don't really care who you are or where you've come from, but please, do tell me about this psychic paper of yours."

"Well, like I said, it's low-level mind manipulation. You tell somebody who you are, for example I told your guards and your secretary that I was Doctor John Smith, and then you hold this handy little thing where they can see it. Unless they have a really exceptional level of intelligence, which you clearly do, they'll see the psychic paper as an ID card for whoever you've told them you are. Sometimes, though, if they're really not too bright, you don't even have to make up a name or occupation for yourself before showing it to them. I flashed it in one man's face not long ago without saying a word and the poor sod thought I was the Duke of Belgium."

"Hm", Veidt smiled, clearly amused by that last anecdote. "It could be quite controversial if Doctor Manhattan and his government sponsors want to properly release it. You'll probably get a lot of people saying that 'mind manipulation' is wrong or immoral."

"You _are _smart", the Doctor said. He was fighting back a crooked grin.

"Thank you", Veidt said. "But if you used a mind-manipulating piece of paper to get past my guards and secretary, you've technically broken into my offices. Haven't you, Mr.-? What's your real name?"

"The Doctor", the Doctor replied, beginning to notice eerie similarities between himself and Veidt.

"Doctor Who?" Veidt asked.

"Just the Doctor. I haven't gone by any other name for as long as I can remember."

"OK, 'the Doctor'", Veidt addressed him, "you've technically used deceit and lies to break into my offices, haven't you?" The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but found he couldn't think of anything to say in his defense. He felt painfully embarrassed by the fact that a human had outwitted him. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Yeah, I suppose I have", he groaned. "You're going to call your goons to take me away, then?"

"Hm? Oh, I called security after the first time you said 'low-level mind manipulation'. There's a button underneath my desk…"

"Which you pressed while leaning back nonchalantly and looking at me as if you were the slightest bit interested in what I had to say." The Doctor let his grin show now. "You may well be the smartest human being I've ever come across."

"Just so you know, Doctor, I was genuinely intrigued by that psychic paper of yours", Veidt said.

"Oh, I am glad", the Doctor told Veidt happily. "So, how long have we got until your security comes to get me?"

"By my estimate, about 35 seconds", Veidt said.

"Ha!" The Doctor laughed. "Oh, you really have got everything worked out, haven't you?" A brief silence followed this. Then the Doctor spoke up again. "It must be hard being the smartest man in the world, mustn't it? I mean, if a war breaks out or a killer disease starts spreading, everyone's going to look to you for an answer, aren't they? They'll want you to save the world for them!" Veidt looked thoughtful for a moment. He ran a hand down his slim face thoughtfully. Finally he replied. "I don't mind being the smartest man in the world, Doctor", he murmured benevolently. "I just wish it wasn't this one." The Doctor narrowed his eyes, surprised to find himself slightly unnerved by that comment. He looked intently at Veidt. "What do you m-" he began, but at that moment the elevator door slid open and the two guards he had outwitted earlier stepped up to him. Veidt addressed his security employees; "This man deceived you with a simple mind game and came into my office without reason or permission. Don't hurt him, but do make sure he doesn't come back." The guards grabbed the Doctor, one on each arm, and pulled him across to the elevator. The Doctor looked back over his shoulder briefly and caught Veidt's eye. Veidt shot him a brief apologetic look before the Doctor was inside the closed and moving elevator with two dim-witted guards, and was shortly afterwards outside the building again, making his way back to the TARDIS.


End file.
